


During a Storm

by Button_House_WiFi



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Death Day, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Julian is a prick, M/M, Multi, Pat is a sweet sweet man, The Captain's Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-08 17:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19873294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Button_House_WiFi/pseuds/Button_House_WiFi
Summary: A storm hits Button House, and the mysterious circumstances surrounding The Captain's death are causing him to display some more than odd behaviour on his Death Day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this spawned out of the theory someone had on the Ghiscord that The Captain died due to something like an aneurysm and that's why he doesn't have any external wounds and could also be an explanation as to why he's only referred to as 'The Captain': He genuinely doesn't remember his name due to the brain damage. Basically, in this the symptoms of the illness or other affliction that ultimetely lead to your death reemerge around your Death Day, which I think we can all agree is absolute BS, but there we go, my insatiable thirst for Angst™ has led me to this. Will probably be a twoshot.
> 
> Also, some constructive feedback would be much appreciated, as this is my first work that isn't a poem (and English isn't my first language)

The harsh November wind had already blown away yesterday's fog and now hissed along the newly renovated walls of Button House, seemingly intent on doing the same to the old estate. Alison sighed as she looked out of the window. 

'I hope it doesn't take too many of the rooftiles off,' she said.  
'We have some spare ones 'round the back. Once the storm is over I'll just pop up there and lay down a couple of new ones, Daddy's gonna fix it, don't worry.'  
Mike was standing behind her, rubbing her shoulders absentmindedly. Alison turned around with a frown.  
'Mike, you are not seriously thinking about climbing around up there on the roof, are you? Do I have to remind you of the four times you fell off the ladder trying to fix that light bulb upstairs? You have terrible balance, there is no way I'm gonna let you up there.' 

Mike was just about to answer, when a sharp whistle interrupted him.  
'That'll be the kettle,' he mumbled more to himself than to her. 

On his way to the kitchen he nearly passed through Pat and Mary who were entering the living room just then and barely moved out of his way in time.

'Hello, Alison!,' Pat exclaimed in his unsual cheerful manner, while Mary raised a hand shyly and nervously eyed the fire curling in the hearth.  
'Hello, Robin!,' Pat then shouted across the room to the caveman who stood at another window and suspiciously squinted into the storm raging outside. 

Robin just grunted in way of an answer, not even turning around. The storm, especially the luminous flashes of lightning, had fully captured his attention. Pat, seemingly used to this, turned back to the only living person in the room. 

'Alison, we were wondering if we could have a quick word with you.'  
Alison prepared herself for another round of eBay madness, like the time Julian had, under the watchful and excited eyes of Robin, tried to bid on a inflatable effigy of the moon (diameter: 3m).  
'See, there is a bit of a problem with Julian and The Captain,' he continued, holding his thumb and index finger just a little apart to emphasise 'A bit'.  
'Most 'noxious,' interjected Mary helpfully.  
'Oh God, they haven't gotten to the computer again, have they? I told Mike to lock it away somewhere ghost-proof!'  
Alison rubbed her forehead.

'No, Actually,' said Pat. 'It's just... Well... Today is The Captain's death day, and he always gets a bit mopey around that time, don't we all?' he chuckled nervously.  
Alison remembered Pat's odd and morbid antics on his death day all too well and decided to just nodd.  
'But, anyway, Julian is pestering him about his death again, trying to squeeze what happened out of him. It always makes him even more difficult than he already was around that time of year before Julian, erm, joined us'  
Alison now switched to rubbing her temples. She felt a headache forming just behind her eyes.  
'Pat, Julian and The Captain are two fully grown adults, as are you two.' she gestured to Mary.  
'I'm not your caretaker, or... mum, or... whatever. Can't they just resolve this on their own? Or among you ghosts?'  
'Julian don't wants to be listenings to us,' chimed in Mary. 'And The Captains be hatings much talkings 'round death day'  
Alison sighed. She could feel the headache growing and briefly wondered if she should get herself checked for a brain tumour or somthing similar.

Then she remembered something Pat just said:  
'Wait a second. Why is Julian pestering The Captain about this? Surely you, Mary, and Thomas and the others were around when he... You know... passed. Wouldn't you have told Julian?'  
'Lots an' lots of mens 'round the 'ouse. Very distracting.'  
Her lips curled into a slightly lewd smile. Pat cleared his throat awkwardly.  
'Yes, erm, well, what Mary means is that the house was used as an army base during the war and there were so many soldiers all over the house that it was difficult to keep track of them all, wasn't it, Mary?'  
Mary nodded enthusiastically.  
'Anyway, apparently they all missed his death and only noticed they had company when they saw them carry a body on a gurney through the halls and The Captain was running alongside. Looked blooming confused, and constantly had people walking right through him, or so Thomas told me.'  
Mary nodded again.  
'And The Captain never told you?' asked Alison.  
'Well, our deaths aren't exactly light conversation topics for any of us,' he chuckled again, side-eyeing Mary who started fidgeting with the upper hem of her apron as she emmitted a small plume of smoke. 

'So... The Captain is upset about his death day, and probably his death in general, and he gets even worse when the topic is brought up, do I get that right?'  
'Yes.'  
Alison groaned.  
'Have you ever tried, oh I don't know, comforting him? Get his mind off things, talk to him about... tanks, and... men, stuff he finds interesting.'  
'That's the problem!' Pat cried.  
'He doesn't want to talk about anything! Sometimes he doesn't even acknowlege us!'  
'And he be layings down lots. 'Cause when he doesn't he be walkings funny,' Mary added.  
'And that. Please, Alison, could you just have a word with at least Julian? He might listen to you', Pat pleaded. 

'Fine!', Alison threw her hands in the air.  
'I'll talk to them! Where are they?'  
'East wing. Follow me!'  
Pat then caught himself and turned around.  
'But only if you're really okay with this.' He said worriedly.  
'I just said yes, didn't I?' Allison answered exasperately, but smiled despite herself. 

Before she left the room, she turned around to check on Robin again. He had, God knows where, apparently found Humphrey's head which he was currently holding chest-high, so that the dead nobleman could watch the storm outside. Alison smiled again. At least two of her ghostly housemates would be peacefully occupied the time being. Although, you never knew with Robin.

In the East Wing she could already hear Julian's incessant jabbering. It came from down the hallway, the direction of The Captain's room. Keeping ghosts out of your private quarters was more than difficult, seeing as they all could just phase through the walls. Alison steeled herself and pushed the door open. With a start, Julian fell silent and turned to face her. The Captain, however, didn't move an inch from where he was sitting on his bed, leaning his back against the headbord, stiff gaze directed towards the opposite wall. 

'Julian, what's going on here?', Alison demanded, arms crossed in front of her chest.  
'Oh nothing. I was just chatting with the old chap here. You, know, trying to cheer him up and all, yes. I was just showing him different stretching excercises, to keep your joints all flexible and bendy.'  
He winked at her.  
'God knows he needs it. As I was saying, this would be the French Fertility Flamingo.'  
With that, he tried to raise his left leg to a height that should definitly not be possible, which meant that, in the process, his shirt started to ride up. Alison quickly turned her eyes toward the wall. 

'Julian, I know you're deflecting. Pat and Mary told me you were annoying The Captain over his...'  
She glanced towards the soldier on the bed.  
'You know... About today. So please, put your leg down again and leave him alone.'  
'Or what?' Julian scoffed like an impetulant child.  
'Or I'll cancel all your internet hours. You're lucky to have them anyway.'  
'Fine.'  
With a huff Julian left the room through the wall opposite the bed. 

Alison turned back to The Captain.  
'Are you okay? Do you want to be alone?' She asked him softly.  
The Captain turned around for the first time. His eyes were glazed over and wandering around in her general direction.  
'Pardon?' He said slowly.  
Alison finally closed the door behind her.  
'I was asking if you were okay, Captain.' she repeated a little louder.  
'Yes, yes,' he answered. 'just fine.'  
'Are you sure? You look a bit under the weather. And the others say you've been avoiding them.'  
If that was at all possible for a ghost. He quickly got up from the bed.  
'Listen here. Just b-because I like to be on my own every now and again and don't const... cont... con...' 

Alison frowned. The Captain seemed to struggle through his words, slurring the consonants and not forming the vowels quite on point. Suddenly, his legs seemed to become less rigid. His posture swayed and his frame started leaning dangerously to his left. Alison, impulsively, made a step towards him, even though she wouldn't have been able to have caught him. His shaking hand gripped the headboard for support and slowly lowered himself back onto the bed. His breath trembled as he shut his eyes and covered his face with his hands in an attempt to stop the room from spinning.

Alison sat down next to him on the bed.  
'Are you unwell?' She frowned.  
'Can you be unwell?'  
The Captain just shrugged, but didn't take his hands from his eyes. Alison decided to go all in. She couldn't help him if she didn't know what exactly was afflicting the usually so put-together and confident soldier.  
'Is this about your death day?' she asked gently.  
Suddenly, the Captain let out a sob. Never before had Alison wished to be able to touch the ghosts as she did now. When The Captain nodded, she cautiously scooted closer. Had they both been beings not only of the metaphysical plane, their shoulders would have been touching then.  
'Would you like to tell me what happened?“ she whispered. 

The Captain stiffened, but without the usual properness, instead of straightening his spine he only squared his shoulders weakly and curled forward into himself. Alison could see now that the pads of his fingers were pressing hard into the skin of his head, the thumbs lying on his temples.  
'You don't have to,' Alison was quick to reassure.  
'We can talk about something else, if you like.'  
This time, The Captain shook his head erratically, his sobs not catching in his throat anymore, but rather somewhere deep within his chest. 

Alison figured the only thing she could do right now for him was to sit with him for a while. She shuffled her bum further towards the wall, leant her back against it and stretched her legs out on the bed next to where The Captain sat. Trying to think of another way to comfort him, she remembered a 40s-themed party Mike had dragged her to once.  
'It'll be really fancy', he had promised her as he had taken her hand and lead her towards the taxi.  
The evening had been rather mediocre, despite Mike's disastrous attempt at Swing Dance. One of the songs that were played, however, its playfulness, its rhythm, the woman's smokey voice and the alternation between English and Yiddish had stuck with her. As she directed her gaze towards the window where the wind pressed whole clouds of rain against the pane in irregular gusts, she began to hum.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the second and last part. Thank you, everyone who left me a Kudos, it made me really, really happy! And especially thank you to the two guys whon have commented to far (I haven't worked out yet how to respond to comments, bear with me, I'm new)! And another thank you ofc to the Ghiscord, especially Novelty Gaz who helped me figure out the formatting, which I knew exactly fuckall about. 
> 
> Again, if you have any constructive criticism, I'd love to hear it (I'm especially concerned about coming across as pretentious or try-hard in regards to the prose)!
> 
> Anyway, enough Palaver: enjoy (or not, I can't force you):

By the time the last notes of the song were long left hanging in the air, The Captain's shoulders had stilled. His breathing had become less laboured and his hands were loosely folded in his lap.  
Alison leaned forward and tilted her head lightly so that she could look at his profile. To her relief, he managed to throw a tired gaze back at her, although it still seemed to be focused on something far behind her.

'Are you feeling a little better?' whispered Alison.  
The Captain nodded meekly and turned his face towards the old wooden boards again. Neither Alison nor Mike had gotten round to sand them to remove the risk of splinters. Alison noticed that he seemed to try and square his shoulders again, but ultimately failed to bring his usual strength into his muscles. He sighed.

'It's hard, you know...' he trailed off.  
His speech was only marginally less slurred and distorted by whatever had overcome him on this evening.  
'Your Death Day?' Alison asked. 'I know, it must be hard for all of you... I saw what Pat went through on his...'  
'No. Not that. Well... I mean, yes, that, too...' The Captain's right shoulder suddenly harshly twitched.  
'Do you promise not to tell the others?'

The Captain turned his head, looking behind him at her. He seemed surprisingly lost and vulnerable, his brow for once not set in a stern frown and his eyes wider and darker without their usual scheming and analysing squint. For the first time, Alison realised he was probably much younger than the grey hair and mustache, and his general stuffy air made him appear. His eyes belied both a youth that was preserved in death, albeit hidden behind military dustiness, and the weariness and stress that must have been the cause of his prematurely grey hair. They also gave view to grief held close to the chest for more than seventy years, yearly amplified my an unwelcome aniversary. 

'I promise.' Alison answered honestly.  
The Captain let out a shuddering breath.  
'My death... I can't really recall... just how it happened.'  
Alison sucked in a shark breath. She had expected maybe an undignified death, or perhaps one with connotations that were too painful to remember, like Mary's witch trial. Not that a ghost genuinly could not remember his own passing.

'In fact, I can't remember an awful lot of things from my life, least of all how it ended.' he said voicelessly.  
'I remember feeling dizzy, a headache... But not more. I think it would have happened about an hour ago, about 75 years back...'  
Alison frowned.  
'Maybe it had something to do with your brain? Did you have a head injury, or...'  
The Captain twitched nervously.  
'I don't know, I can't... it's all just so hazy...' He shuddered.  
'Shhh. It's okay. It doesn't matter right now.' Alison soothed him.  
'Do you remember anything else about your life? Something nice?'

The Captain turned his head towards the window. Though the lighting had since ceased and thunder could only be heard as a distant and harmless roar, the storm had continued raging. The old dust on the outside of the pane had mingled with the raindrops and created a smeary brownish coat. Behind it, the swaying trees were mere blurry silhouettes. Many of their more brittle and rotten branches would litter the grounds the next morning.

'Sometimes I see my sister, I think. I know I had one. She was older than me but I don't know by how much... But I know her name was Molly.' The Captain eagerly added, happy about retaining this one important name.

In his mind The Captain saw mischievious lint-green eyes twinkle at him from a narrow pale face. A thin finger lifted itself to smirking lips and then fell again as a gruff voice started shouting, that of the farmer, The Captain thought. His small hand was firmly grabbed by his sister's soft, gentle one and they were running through the farmer's field, a bouquet of cornflowers and apples in their hands. As the individual ears of rye became indistinguishable in a stream of the lightest greyish brown to each of their sides, the memory, too, faded.

'She used to rope me into all sorts of shenanigans.' The Captain smiled at the memory, however, when he saw Alison's soft smirk he quickly cleared his throat. Still, he could not stop the smile creeping onto his face again.

'Do you remember anyone else?' asked Alison.  
'Faces, some names... Mostly men I served with... Joseph Catton. We were friends.' He swallowed. 'He bought it in the desert in '43.' Alison's smile faded at once.

'I'm so sorry.'  
The Captain just shrugged.  
'Many of us did. That was what it was like back then. He always cheated at Poker anyway.' He joked, but this time, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.  
The corner of Alison's mouth twitched, but there was still something she was dying to know.

'And there was never anyone...' she swayed her head from side to side, like a badly tuned metronome. 'Special?'  
'Special?' The Captain answered, his brows drawn together. Then they lifted.  
'Oh. I see. Erm, well.' He stammered, but this time it had nothing to do with his condition. As he turned a rather fetching shade of red that put Kitty's dress to shame, he continued:

'There was someone, but his face- Or even just name, for that matter...' He sighed again.  
'I can't remember. I can remember that I loved him very much.' At that, he turned his head back to Alison, his eyes shining brightly with tears he couldn't shed. 'And that he loved me, too.' he added more quietly.

Alison smiled sadly at him. 'That's okay. Under the circumstances, I'm sure he would be glad to know that even though you forgot other things about him, you still remember the love he had for you. And he probably never forgot the love you had for him, either.'

The Captain nodded. He felt like he would start to sob again any second, but his heart felt lighter to have shared his troubles with Alison. He had always been too anxious to talk to the other ghosts. He was supposed to be their leader, the ranking officer, he didn't like them knowing of his weaknesses. 

As a particularly vicious gale pulled at the window dressing, The Captain instead let out a yawn. He'd been tired for the last few days and this unexpected one-on-one might have relieved him emotionally, but it didn't particularly do anything to restore his strength.

Alison noticed.  
'Would you like to get some sleep? Don't worry, I talked to Julian, threatened him with revoking his access to the laptop if he bothers you again.'  
The Captain nodded thankfully. Alison got up and walked towards the door. Before she opened it, she turned around one last time.

'I hope, you can get some sleep. I'll make sure you're not interrupted. And... you know you have friends here, right? People like Joseph. These guys have been through the wars with you as well, so to speak. They do love you, too.'

The Captain nodded silently, lost for words. He knew that over time a bond had established itself between himfelf and his fellow ghosts. But he had always been The Captain. The capital letters had been audible when he first introduced himself, so that was the role he stuck with. 

But the more he remembered Joseph's roaring laughter, the way his lanky body shook with it, and the grin on his face when he clapped The Captain on the back to congratulate him on another briefing well done, those little things of friendship, the more he longed to re-experience them. Maybe he could loose some of his habitual rigidness. He'd have to try it out. But not too much. He still had to be a proper gentleman, after all.

Alison had nearly already closed the door behind her when she heard him call her name.  
'Yes?' She stuck her head back into the room.  
'Thank you.' He didn't say more, but he didn't have to. Alison felt the weight behind his words and just nodded. 

After the door had closed, The Captain stretched out on the bed again, the spaces between the headboard and the crown of his head, and between the soles of his feet and the wall perfectly even. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain tapping against the window and the rooftiles.

As he drifted off to sleep, his mind was filled with fragments of memories.  
They were only small ones. He remembered the tips of his fingers catch on the pages of a book, a set of knuckles gently dragging across the inside of his arm and and then calloused fingers, this time decidedly not his own, softly tracing the weather-beaten landscape of his face. 

He couldn't remember who these hands belonged to, and perhaps that was his greatest regret regarding the nature of his unforunately sudden death. But every time he recounted that memory he also remembered the calm he had felt in that moment. A sureness and a carelessness, a deep trust that could only stem from an even deeper and more profound love.

In the living room, Robin was still staring out into the storm, Humphrey's head cradled like a newborn infant. The Tudor had apparently fallen asleep and was now contentedly snoring in the caveman's arms who seemed much more relaxed now that the lighting and thunder had moved on to haunt someone elsewhere. 

Mike, though he didn't realise it, was sitting right next to them on the old sofa, two mugs of tea in front of him, into one of which he was currently dunking a Hobnob.  
'Well, well... Are those the buscuits you told me were empty?' Alison said, entering the room. Startled, Mike lost hold of the biscuit which drowned in the milky brown with a sad 'Plop'.

'They were, but I found an old packet in the far back of the cupboard. Lady Heather must have left it there.' When he saw Alison's face at that, he quickly defended himself. 'The Best-Before Date was only a few months ago, and it's never been opened, that always adds at least half a year to it, right?'  
'No, Mike. It really doesn't.' She let herself fall next to him on the sofa and grabbed her by now luke-warm mug of tea. With a sigh she snuggled closer to her husband who switched his mug to his right hand to put his arm around her.

'I love you,' she murmured into his jumper.  
'I love you, too,' Mike whispered back.  
Alison smiled, closed her eyes, and listened to Mike's breathing. She felt like she would be asleep in a matter of minutes.

Tomorrow, Mike and her would have to pick up the branches outside and sort out repairs for the roof. But the morning would be clear and the air clean and light with the smell of old rain.


End file.
